A Kiss in the Morning Mist Page 3

  “This way.” She stepped away from the fence and strolled across the wide grassy expanse between enclosures. A grouping of trees cast long shadows on the ground, shading several tables and chairs as well as a small wooden bridge spanning the stream that twisted and turned throughout the pasture. Theo stepped across the bridge, her boot heels loud on the wooden planks, and strode toward another fenced area directly across from where her three-, four-, and five-year-olds frolicked in the pasture. Again, the horses were lined up at the fence. “These are my youngest. Phoebe is two and proving to be a fast runner. Her times are incredible. Persephone and Hermes are one and will be as fast as her.” She paused as she rubbed Phoebe’s nose. “Phoebe will be leaving us soon.”

  “Leaving? Has she been sold?”

  “No, not sold. She isn’t mine.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought you owned all these horses.”

  Theo shook her head. “Not all. The majority, yes. Phoebe’s owner will be arriving shortly and taking her home. Hart Jameson brought his stallion, Hart’s Pride, a few years ago and bred him with Athena. Phoebe is the result, and Hart couldn’t be happier. He left her with me so I could train her, but now he’s anxious to take her on the racing circuit.”

  She moved on, glancing only once to see if she still had his attention, but it seemed like he was absorbing every word she said, his attention fully captured between her and the horses. She stopped at the last enclosure, and joy filled her heart. “And this is Henry’s All or Nothing. Or Pumpkin, as I’ve always called him.”

  “Strange name for a horse,” he said as he leaned against the fence. “Why isn’t he named after Greek gods like the others?”

  “He was our first and not so strange when you know why he’s named as he is.” Theo opened the paddock gate and sauntered through. Pumpkin trotted up beside her and nuzzled her pockets. She stroked his long nose, then gave him the sugar cube she’d taken from the kitchen. “Henry and I were there when Pumpkin was born. The birth had been difficult, and we almost lost his mother. We didn’t think either one of them would survive.” The horse finished the bit of sweet, then nuzzled her pocket again, looking for another. Theo obliged. “Last one, my boy,” she whispered as she held out her hand. The horse took the sugar cube with his lips and proceeded to crunch the cube to nothing. Theo pulled a handkerchief from her other pocket and wiped her hand, then turned her attention back to Eamon.

  “Henry’s father didn’t want anything to do with him. To look at him now, you’d never know Pumpkin was a scrawny little thing, so much smaller than the other foals born that year—smaller, in fact, than any other horse born on Turning Leaf Farms in Kentucky. It took him all afternoon to stand and begin nursing. But Henry saw something in him, something special. He bet every last penny we had—every last hope of winning races—on this horse, so truly, he was and is All or Nothing.” She continued to stroke the horse’s nose and couldn’t help the smile that lifted the corners of her mouth as memories came flooding back. There had been some bad days, but luck had shined on her and Henry more often than not, and the good far outweighed the bad.

  “For three years, he won every race we entered him in. Sometimes, the purse wasn’t even worth the entry price, but for us, it was more than the money. It was pride. Pumpkin was building a reputation as were we.” She glanced at him. Again, his foot hooked onto the bottom slat of the fence, and one arm rested on the top. He’d tilted his hat back, and his full attention was on her, though his hand gently brushed against Happy’s silky black-and-white coat as the dog leaned against him. She wondered if he was aware he was doing it.

  “Eventually, we took the winnings, moved here, and built what you see. Morning Mist Farms.” She gave the horse a final pat and stepped through the gate, making sure it was locked behind her. Pumpkin would never run away, but why take the chance? “We are primarily a stud farm. People come from far and wide to have their mares bred with Pumpkin, hoping they’ll have another winner. Or they bring their stallions to mate with one of Pumpkin’s progeny. They also come to buy Pumpkin’s offspring with the same hope. He’s proven himself more than once.”

  “You have yourself a nice place, Miz Danforth.”

  She peered up at him. “I thought we agreed you were going to call me Theo?”

  A flush stained his features as he lowered the brim of his hat, as if he had allowed her to see too much and was now trying to hide it. “Yes, ma’am. I mean Theo.”

  “That’s better. Now, do you have any more questions?”

  “Just one. Why Morning Mist?”

  “Another one of Henry’s ideas.” Warmth filled her when she mentioned Henry’s name once again. She thought of him every day, but now, two and a half years after his passing, the pain of losing him wasn’t as devastating. More and more, his memories brought her happiness and not tears. “In the morning, when the sun is first coming up, there is a fine, soft mist hovering over the pastures. Henry thought it was the most beautiful thing he ever saw, hence the name.”

  As she began to lead him back toward the stable, Happy gave a short, whiny yip, then nearly toppled her over as he ran toward to the house in his peculiar three-legged gait. The cats followed, and the duck brought up the rear, quacking for all he was worth. “Ah, it’s time.”

  “Time? Time for what?”

  “The children are home from school.” She led the way down the grassy path toward the house, following behind Mallory, who waddled quickly but not fast enough to keep up with the dog and cats. “I’ll show you around the stable after you’ve met everyone. I’m very proud of what we built. Henry and I designed it while we were still traveling to Colorado. We hadn’t even found the land yet, let alone purchased it, but we had faith.”

  She glanced in his direction as they came out from between the barn and stable to the commotion in the yard. She expected to see Quincy driving the buckboard, Marianne beside him, but they were nowhere in sight. Neither was the buckboard. Instead, the children—her pride and joy, although they weren’t her own—stood in the dust of the drive as Happy danced and barked, running from one to another, sticking his nose in places it didn’t belong, giving soft woofs of happiness as hands stroked his fur. The duck quacked and waddled after the dog while the cats meowed and rubbed themselves against five pairs of legs, one right after another, welcoming the children home.

  Beside her, Eamon stopped and stood with his hands on his hips. Theo studied him, noting the expression on his face. Some people found it intolerable to have their peace broken by a cacophony of noises such as her barnyard had become. Others accepted it for what it was. And others still, like her, loved it. Eamon seemed to like it, although she couldn’t be quite sure. Humor danced in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Is it like this every day?”

  She shook her head. “Not every day. Only when the children attend school. Usually, there are two more—Quincy and Marianne Burke. They live here as well. Quincy is my farm manager and Marianne cooks for us, but you’ll have to meet them later.”

  She so loved this part of the day, when the children came home from school and her family became complete once more.

  The only one missing was Henry.

  He would have loved seeing how Thomas and Charlotte had grown. He would have marveled and been as proud as a father could be by how Lou and Wynn had matured into fine young men. He would have adored Gabby, as precious as she was.

  Henry Danforth had loved children and wanted a house full, but they had never been blessed.

  Mentally, Theo gave herself a little shake, pushing the thought from her mind, then gave a quick nod to Granny, who opened the back door and waited on the step as she and Eamon approached the children. Theo clapped her hands, gaining their attention from greeting the animals, which were barking, meowing, and quacking. In seconds, the three youngest of the group swarmed her, wrapping their arms around her so she could give them a little squeeze. Theo loved this part of welcoming them home the best and reveled in the love th
ey gave her. It was more than reciprocated.

  She glanced upward to find Eamon’s intent stare on her. She thought she saw an unmistakable yearning flash in his eyes, but it was gone too quickly to be certain. She cleared her throat. “Everyone, I want you to meet Mr. MacDermott. He’ll be working with us.” Theo drew his attention from herself to a boy she motioned forward. “This is Lou Burke, Quincy and Marianne’s son.” He had a smattering of faded freckles across his nose, lively blue eyes full of mischief, and a thick sheaf of dark hair over his forehead. He gave a slight nod, but an impish smile graced his lips as he put down the large crate he held and stuck out his hand.

  Theo watched carefully as Eamon shook the young man’s hand and exchanged pleasantries. She could tell a lot about a person in the way he or she responded to others. So far, Eamon MacDermott seemed to genuinely like people.

  After the two greeted each other, Lou turned toward her and shoved the hair out of his eyes. “Pop and Mama heard Mr. Osuch fell from his roof and broke his arm so they went over to see if the Osuches needed any help.” Again, hair was pushed out of his face as he picked up the crate. “Nice to meet you, Mr. MacDermott.”

  Why does his name seem familiar? She’d thought so before when he first introduced himself, but couldn’t place it. She knew for a fact she’d never met him, so why did his name jiggle something in her memory?

  She ignored the question as well as the dull pinprick of disquiet. Her nephew stepped forward, a stack of books held together with a leather strap in his hands. Solemn brown eyes measured the man before him. After a moment, he introduced himself. “Wynn. Wynn Danforth. Theo is my aunt,” he said in a tone that was a warning and a welcome at the same time, though the warning was quite clear. He would protect his aunt.

  Theo grinned, very proud of the young man she and Henry had taken in over six years ago when Henry’s brother passed. Then she forced the smile from her face, schooling her features into a mask of solemnity equal to his own.

  Eamon offered his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “And these angels are my wards.” Theo released the three children from her protective embrace. “I’d like you to meet Thomas and Charlotte White and Gabrielle Bainbridge. Say hello to Mr. MacDermott.”

  Theo’s heart swelled as Thomas stepped forward first and held out his hand. “P-p-pleased to make your acquaintance, M-m-mr. MacDermott.” Pride grew as he shook the man’s hand, then stepped aside and gestured to his younger sister. “M-m-may I present my s-sister, Charlotte?”

  “How do you do?” The young girl extended her hand as well and dipped a little curtsy, her face flushed, her voice barely above a whisper. She pulled her hand away quickly and hid behind her brother.

  “You can’t forget me. I’m Gabby.”

  Theo took a deep breath and let it out between her lips in an effort to keep her emotions at bay as Gabby tugged on Eamon’s sleeve. He knelt on one knee to be eye to eye with her. Gabby hardly ever touched anyone. She very rarely allowed herself to be touched either and quickly squirmed free, but that was getting better. She let herself be hugged a little more often now, but that progress had taken over two years. The only exception was on those nights when the nightmares came and she relived, once more, the tragic loss of her family in a fire. She’d been so young, only four, when it happened, but the memories lived on, not only in her mind but in the faint scars marring the soft skin of her hands, her back, and the backs of her legs. She was still self-conscious about her hair, which had been singed off in the fire, but was now long enough to pull into pigtails.

  Theo glanced at Granny and saw the woman struggle with the same emotions, although Granny hadn’t managed to keep the fine sheen of tears from her eyes.

  “How do you do, Miss Gabby?” Eamon asked, the tone of his voice gentle. If he noticed the faded marks the fire had left on her hands, he didn’t show it.

  “I do jes’ fine.” Her smile was engaging, her soft baby-blue eyes glimmering with a hint of understanding as she shook his hand, and then she did the most surprising thing of all. She wrapped her little arms around Eamon’s neck and hugged him. The small display of affection was Theo’s undoing, and she turned away, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. She had tried for so long to get Gabby to open her soul of the sorrow that dwelled there, longed for the day when the six-year-old child would allow herself to be held without pulling away, and here, she’d taken the first step herself.

  Perhaps she felt a kindred spirit in Eamon MacDermott or recognized the same sorrow dwelling in his soul, as Theo herself had done.

  She studied Eamon with a new appreciation.

  No matter why the child did as she did, it was a good beginning.

  The best beginning.

  Chapter 3

  Eamon watched Granny shepherd the young people inside for milk and cake, except for Lou, who sauntered over to the henhouse, the crate in his hands, the dog, cats, and duck tailing behind him in a single line.

  The yard quieted once more.

  For a man who spent so much time alone except for his horse, the noise had been jarring. Now, the hush was deafening and reminded him how much his life had changed over the past two and a half years. All of it was his own doing. He didn’t deserve more. If he had pursued and captured the Logan Gang when they had crossed his path, he could have prevented Zeb Logan from killing Kieran, Mary, and Matthew, then shooting his brother, Brock, leaving him for dead. He might even have avoided being shot himself by Tell Logan. His head told him he couldn’t have gone after the Logans—he was transporting prisoners to Canon City at the time—but his heart wouldn’t listen. Seeing how Theo’s family acted with one another, despite all of them not sharing the same blood, made him miss his brothers and his nephew and niece more than he usually did. Though he’d been a U.S. Marshal, traveling from place to place, he’d always been able to see his family on a regular basis, often having dinner at Kieran’s ranch.

  All that changed in the blink of an eye with a bullet from a gun.

  He shook himself from his thoughts and turned toward the back porch, catching sight of Gabby as she darted toward a chair in the corner and grabbed the much loved rag doll from her perch. She squeezed the doll tight, then disappeared into the house once more. The corners of his mouth pulled down in a frown as another unbidden memory—or perhaps it was his heart’s desire—flashed through his mind. Desi Lyn, Kieran’s daughter, would be a year or so younger than Gabby now, but he hadn’t seen his niece since he recovered from Tell’s bullet. The loss of Kieran, his wife and son, and the near loss of Brock had left a gaping hole in his heart that made him wonder how and why he should still be alive.

  He heard laughter coming from inside the house through the open windows, adults’ as well as children’s, and longing stirred. He’d always been fond of children, had wanted a family of his own at one time.

  The children were Theo’s wards and not hers, but the fact they were not borne of her didn’t seem to matter at all. Theo’s love for them was obvious. He didn’t doubt they were the children of her heart. All three of them seemed happy and carefree, as children should, but he couldn’t help notice a touch of sadness in them as well. Nor could he deny something had happened when Gabby wrapped her little arms around him and hugged him. Tears had sprung to his eyes, and he’d had to blink them away.

  That had never happened to him before, but it wasn’t the only odd thing he’d experienced since coming to this farm a few hours ago. There was something here . . . something he couldn’t define.

  Theo’s warm fingers upon his arm brought him back to the present. “Are you ready to see the stables?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  She gave a slight nod, then headed across the yard, the hem of her split skirt swirling around the tops of her boots with her purposeful stride. Despite her quick pace, Eamon had no problem keeping up with her. For all her bristle and mere presence, Theodosia Danforth was a tiny thing. Her head only came up to his shoulder, and if she weighed much
more than one hundred pounds, he’d be surprised, although every one of those pounds seemed to be all in the right places. His gaze drifted to the gentle sway of her hips and nipped-in waist before he made himself focus on the stable ahead of him. He shouldn’t be admiring his brand-new employer like that—she was a married woman.

  He forced himself to listen to her words. Once again, he found that he’d missed some.

  “—the house after that. By then, the children should be done with their snack.” She stopped at the entrance to the building, her slender hand on the doorframe, and looked at him for a long time. Her eyes were wide and so very green . . . and filled with gratitude. “Thank you.”

  Startled, he stopped as well and couldn’t help asking, “For what?”

  “For not laughing at Thomas’s stutter or Charlotte’s shyness. For letting Gabby hug you and not staring at her scars. They haven’t . . . ” She cleared her throat, then stopped speaking as she moved through the stable’s open door and down one of the two main aisles.

  “Tell me about the children. You mentioned they are your wards. How did they come to be here with you?”

  Theo shrugged, but when she faced him once more, he saw the glow of love on her pretty face. “They had nowhere else to go, Eamon. No family left to love or care for them.” She turned away, but not before he saw the sheen of tears that made her eyes luminous. “Thomas and Charlotte’s mother, Angela, was my very dear friend. She contracted diphtheria when there was an epidemic in town. Being so far away out here on the farm, we were spared that tragedy so I brought the children here to stay with Granny and Marianne while I cared for Angela and her husband. She begged me to take her children, to give them a home after she was gone. She wanted them to be loved and cherished. I gave my word. Thomas was only five. Charlotte four. They’ve been with me ever since . . . it’s been four years now.”